


Vile Blood

by itshysterekal



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:24:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7572343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itshysterekal/pseuds/itshysterekal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-spoilers for the season 2 preview-</p><p>Quentin would do anything to save his friends, and unintentionally misleading a power-hungry healer has consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vile Blood

**Author's Note:**

> So they released the first scene of season 2 and my brain started spinning. (For anyone reading What It's For, I'm still writing that. I'm just doing a horrible two-WIPs at once life choice.) 
> 
> The scene (probably should watch before reading if you have not seen it yet): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1EJLr-y03ag&index=3&list=PLX5Az9LAnbkRAJBeQRWxwPplmXOsRoHd4

Thanks to the help of the healer whose apparent horticultural candy hobby was not related to cooking children in an oven, they’d made it. All of them were alive and going to stay that way, even if they weren’t necessarily well. The vial of blood had been a small price to pay even if he hadn’t really had the blood to give. The healer had patched up the wound in his side well, but he’d still lost a lot of blood to be giving any more up willingly. Quentin was true to his word, however.

He was just visiting Alice’s bedside when he heard her muttering angrily with someone. “How was I to know he wasn’t the High King? He said that was who I was helping. I assumed he was referring to himself!” 

If there was a reply, Quentin couldn’t hear it. He could barely hear her voice. Quietly, he crept closer. She was banging about with jars and bowls and that made him a bit nervous. “Well, I’ll fix his wagon,” she muttered again and Quentin desperately hoped she was talking to someone besides herself even if that meant there was someone else out to get them. She finished whatever she was doing with a puff of purple smoke and Quentin moved to Eliot’s bedside. Whatever this healer (witch?) was doing, her original target had been Eliot and that meant he was probably in the most danger. 

Quentin felt hyper alert now, and it was worse because he was the only one in their group who was conscious. He scanned the room, but everything seemed peaceful. Maybe he was blowing things out of proportion. Maybe that spell had nothing to do with them. Maybe the healer (witch? Was there a difference?) was just angry that she’d helped a tomato like Quentin and didn’t realize Eliot was the high king. Maybe she thought she’d been lied to. Maybe she actually had a broken wagon that she was going to fix and give to Quentin. 

She emerged from the room and spotted him. The smirk that turned her lips sent a chill through him. Then again, maybe she knew exactly who Eliot was and that was an evil smirk that said she knew that he knew. 

She passed by to check on Penny and Quentin was intent on watching her until Eliot stirred. Quentin wasn’t sure when he’d slipped his hand into Eliot’s, but it didn’t matter. Eliot gave him a dazed, half-asleep look. “The cocktails want me to give them to the cabana boys,” he told Quentin. 

“I think you should do what the drinks want.” It was all Quentin could do not to laugh. 

“But what am I gonna drink?” Eliot asked him blearily. 

“You can make more. Be nice to the cabana boys.” 

Eliot murmured in agreement before going back to sleep and Quentin almost forgot he was keeping an eye on the healer/witch as he continued to smile in amusement. Hearing Penny’s breathing change brought Quentin back to his mission, though and he focused his attention on her. She appeared to just be checking the bandages and applying some kind of salve. It wasn’t whatever she’d just cooked up, so there was that. Part of Quentin wanted to inspect, but he knew better than to let her know he was on to her. Maybe she’d meant to be overheard. Maybe her revenge was to make him paranoid and afraid. Well, as much as he wanted to stick it to her, he was going to let her win if that was her game. He’d rather worry than risk letting his pride get his friends killed. 

Aside from the dream incident, Margo was the first to wake. If Eliot was surprised to wake with Quentin at his side, he didn’t show it. The older student didn’t seem to have any memory of Quentin’s advice on the cocktails, though. Penny woke and was quieter than usual when he found out the loss of his hands was likely permanent. The spell allowing him to do ride-alongs had gone with his hands, so they’d have to find another way back. Except Quentin couldn’t. He couldn’t because Eliot couldn’t. As High King, Eliot would have to stay in Fillory forever, which meant Quentin had to as well- at least until he figured out what was going on with the witch who had healed them all. 

His eyes fell on Alice. She hadn’t woken yet, so perhaps it was too soon to say she’d healed them all. Guilt filled him a little when he realized he’d been so busy looking after Eliot that he’d almost ignored her. Alice wasn’t the one in danger, though. Alice wasn’t the one whose blood the witch wanted. Quentin thought hard. She’d had opportunity to get it… had she? He didn’t think so. 

Margo and Eliot were the strongest, much to Quentin’s chagrin, so they ended up carrying a pallet with Alice’s still-unconscious form. She’d come the closest to death, according to the healer. That was why she was still unconscious. Her life force was rebuilding itself or something. Penny had just needed blood. Alice had lost more than that somehow. Quentin tried not to think about Julia or the Beast who was still out there. He especially tried not to think of the two of them together. Julia had been through enough without the Beast turning on her. Maybe the Beast and whatever Julia’s group had summoned would kill each other off. That would be too convenient, but Quentin could dream. 

Finally, they were far enough from the candy cottage that Quentin felt safe enough to speak. “That witch- healer- whatever she was. I think she’s after you, Eliot. I told her she’d be helping the High King of Fillory, and she thought I meant me. She wants your blood- I mean that literally, not metaphorically- for some reason. Probably not a good one.” 

“Quentin,” Eliot huffed tiredly. Quentin immediately felt bad all over again that he wasn’t helping to carry Alice. “I am the High King. Pretty much everyone wants something from me now.” 

That quieted him down. Eliot was right, of course. Still, this one was Quentin’s fault. He was going to make up for it somehow. He offered to take the handles for a while, but Eliot refused. Margo took him up on it and Quentin couldn’t back out, but this was (once again) not his intended consequence. He’d done everything as right as he could, so it wasn’t like there’d been another choice. If he’d run another ten miles to the next healer, Penny or Alice (or both) probably would have died. It was a miracle that Penny was walking with them, no matter how silent or weak looking. 

It had been a mistake to offer to help carry and Quentin knew it in less than a mile. Guilt was such a powerful motivator, though. There was warmth and wetness on his side and he knew he’d reopened the wound there. “Um,” he mumbled. He hated himself for ruining even this one gesture. His side was screaming and his head was spinning, so he didn’t really have a choice. 

Penny was the only one who heard him and his eyes rolled as soon as he saw the fresh blood on Quentin’s shirt. “Hey,” Penny barked out. Margo and Eliot heard that anyway. She immediately took the pallet from him and helped Eliot lower Alice to the ground. She still didn’t stir. Awkwardly, Quentin sat down on a fallen tree and gingerly lifted his shirt up. 

It wasn’t too bad. It probably looked worse than it was. They had some extra bandages, but those were for Penny’s hands and Quentin wasn’t about to use those. He pulled his shirt off the rest of the way and bunched it up against the wound. “Let’s keep going.” 

Eliot looked skeptical. “Q, you’re literally bleeding out.”

“So one of you can do something besides what I’m already doing?” 

“Well, there’s…”

Margo rolled her eyes. “That’s for, like, papercuts and minor cooking mishaps. Not a hole in your side. Quentin’s right, we need to keep going, your Majesty.” 

Eliot rolled his eyes, but there was a shadow behind his smirk that made Quentin feel weirdly good. Eliot was worried about him. They pressed on and it began to grow dark. It wasn’t night yet, but the shade of the trees made it seem like it nearly was. In reality, they probably had another two hours. After one, the trees finally dissipated and they made it out in time to see the sun setting over a small village. “Thank god,” Quentin breathed. He didn’t know how much longer he could remain on his feet. 

It was an eerily prescient thought. As they reached the small fence that seemed to border the town, Quentin’s knees gave out. “I’m good, just…”

“I’ll wait with him,” Penny said and after a moment of silent argument, Eliot and Alice pressed on. 

“Thanks,” Quentin said, but Penny didn’t reply. Something about how hard it must be to lose his hands and therefore most of his magic crossed Quentin’s mind, but he didn’t have the energy to dwell on it. He leaned tiredly against the fence before either falling asleep or passing out. 


End file.
